Ordinary
by ElasticBobaTurtle
Summary: Trapped in lines of little half-smiles and lazy hellos. Shikamaru, Sakura.


He saw her, sometimes. Occasionally when he returned from a mission to give his report to the Hokage, she'd be there with a bundle of papers in her arms. Or sometimes on the street as he passed the stalls on his way home, she'd be in her casual attire, carefully examining melons or mangoes. (He sometimes caught her looking rather wistfully at the flower-shop from across the street.) Or once in a while, when he returned home late at night, she'd be out with Naruto and the gang at Ichiraku, under the warm, constant light of the ramen stand.

He rarely spoke to her. If he happened upon her in the office, they might exchange a silent nod of acknowledgment. If it was a good day, she would smile. Out on the crowded streets, she would never notice him as she weighed fruits in her hands. And at the ramen stand she would be too busy bickering with Ino or yelling at Naruto for his atrocious manners to say anything beyond hello.

But that was fine. They were acquaintances, and he was satisfied with that. There was just enough friendliness in her little half-smiles and his lazy hellos for it to be considered ordinary. And he liked ordinary things.

They were easy to accept and even easier to take for granted.

-

He thought about alternatives (possibilities?), sometimes. That's what one tends to do when one cloud-watches. When you look at the blue, blue sky without beginning or end, without restraint or responsibility – it's easy to let your mind wander. He thinks about other people – Chouji, Ino, Asuma, his dad, his mom, even Naruto – and her, sometimes.

Maybe if they'd been put on the same team that fateful day three years ago, things would be different. Maybe they would exchange more than hasty greetings. Maybe she would notice him out on the streets while grocery shopping and perhaps he would call out her name.

But at the end of the day, when the sky darkened and the clouds retired, he would hang up those possibilities too. It was easier to return to an unremarkable reality where things would be as they were.

-

And yet, not every day was ordinary, even in the unremarkable reality Shikamaru had fashioned for himself.

There were extraordinary days. Take, for example, the day of Asuma's death – that was an extraordinary day. Who would have believed it possible? Shikamaru, even in all his cloud-imaginings, had never, ever imagined a world without Asuma.

But that was where reality was more than he had pinned it down to be. It was cruel and a little silly, he thought. But it had happened. And life would run as it was bound to run, like a river rushing out to a quiet death at sea, salty and sweet mixing. Who was he to stop the flow?

Strangely – or perhaps he should have expected it – she was the first to see him after his gruesome revenge had been exacted. As the last rocks tumbled down upon the mangled, screaming body and he emerged from the ghostly smoke, she was there: the stranger from the streets, under the warm, constant light of the ramen stand. Life made peculiar choices, sometimes.

He was sure his own expression was unreadable, but he couldn't quite understand her tight-lipped look when he told her that she and Sai were a little too late. She seemed to want to say something. Instead she offered to heal him, which he quickly declined. There were more important things to attend to. The fight was not over.

He never found out exactly what she wanted to say, because after the whole ordeal, they returned to the unremarkable reality that kept them trapped in ordinary boxes; trapped in lines of little half-smiles and lazy hellos.

But she had seen something of him in that instant, and that warped their reality so it wasn't quite the same. Just a little off, like a slightly crooked picture frame hanging on the wall. He noticed, too.

Her eyes would meet his for a moment longer in the office, alight with some strange, dancing emotion. He still could not read her expression. What did she want to say?

He would think about these unspoken words more and more frequently while he watched the clouds that, nowadays, seemed more solemn. That was what loss did, he supposed. It brought gray to a blue sky until you could almost believe it wasn't blue anymore.

And then another extraordinary day.

He was surprised to find a shock of pink awaiting him on the grassy fields. He slowed as he approached her. Her clear eyes met his.

"Shikamaru," she said. It was odd, hearing her say his name. He couldn't clearly recall her ever saying it, at least not in this manner. He never would have expected to find her here, either. It was almost unreal.

He met her gaze steadily, and it seemed as if they did not blink for a long time. Just looking, gauging, _seeing_. It was strange that it felt so natural, staring at this not-quite-stranger, not-quite-friend.

Finally, she broke the gaze to look at the setting sun. She fidgeted, and things began to regain a sense of reality, as if the world had suddenly awoken from a frozen frame. He exhaled quietly in relief as he peered up at the sky. There were gray wisps of clouds gathering on the horizon.

"Looks like rain," he commented. She turned to look at him.

"How do you know?"

He smiled. "If you look at clouds as much as I do, you start to recognize the patterns."

"Oh." She fell into thoughtful silence. He watched her out of the corner of his eye as her fingers played with the hem of her skirt.

"Why are you here?" he asked, finally. It wasn't that he minded, exactly…it just wasn't normal.

She shifted a little. "I…" she trailed off, shrugging. "I'm not sure. I guess I…just wanted to look at the clouds."

He quirked an eyebrow, amused. "Huh, I thought only I liked to do that."

She grinned cheekily. "Well, you thought wrong."

He sighed as he lay down on the grass in his customary position, arms acting as a pillow. He closed his eyes as he heard her settle down beside him. They lapsed into a comfortable silence to watch the colors draining quietly from the sky.

Strangely, there were no words.

They were still there, yes, unspoken. But now, there was no need to speak them. His heart was slow, beating with the steady rhythm of a river at peace with itself. It was all right, he mused, the way things had turned out. He didn't need to wonder about the possibilities, torment himself over the things he could have done or should have done – all the conversations he might have had, the memories he may have created, the lives he could have saved. It was over and done with. They were here, they were now, two stranger-friends sitting side by side; and there were no regrets in this moment.

It was ordinary. It was extraordinary.

* * *

This has been sitting in my computer for a while now...back when I was struck with the urge to write a shikasaku. I like this couple, because...well, I like Shikamaru. Lol. He's just a very rational and surprisingly sensitive fellow, I think. Although for them I find it hard to write "romance," so I guess I settled for a more...friendship kind of relationship in this one. Lately I've found myself writing more contemplative, less gushy-romantic pieces. I would like to write something with more dialogue and action in the near future, though.

on another note, I've been in a kind of writing mood lately, which is unusual nowadays. hopefully it lasts.


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